


Badlands

by ashisverymuchonfire



Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Hotel Sex, Nonbinary Character, Other, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Police Brutality, Self-Harm, Sexual Harassment, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, im probably forgetting something, kellic - Freeform, this is gonna be so wild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/ashisverymuchonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kellin Quinn lives in an urban wasteland. At the tender age of twenty-one, they deal drugs to get by and spend their nights running through dirty streets with a gender that's undefined, a heart that pumps fear instead of blood, and a sense of desperation that could kill a man. Just as they're finally starting to accept their fate and deal with the fact that they're stuck in this filthy place, their already upside-down life is further spun around by the enigmatic Vic Fuentes. It's a relationship built on survival and fueled by doubt, but when Vic mentions a desire to escape, it brings out the rebellious anger that Kellin was sure had been lost at age nineteen. They both know that it's too much to ask for, but now, more than anything, all they want is to be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castle

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey new fic!!!! finally!! as u can probably tell its based off of the album badlands by halsey but u dont have to know/like her music to read this, it’ll just provide more context for the ppl who do like her stuff. there will be 16 chapters, one for each song off of the album, and it’ll all connect in one storyline (as opposed to a bunch of unrelated one shots). obviously its kellic and also it will feature nonbinary!kellin who will use they/them pronouns throughout the story :-)
> 
> im honestly so excited about this fic, idk how often it’ll be updated bc i’m still writing cataclysm but i thought i would get it up and running awhile!! pls enjoy!!!

In the city known as Badlands, there are few things more innocent than a twenty-year-old smoking a cigarette.

Sure, smoking is common everywhere, but Kellin imagines that there are also probably quite a few people in the world who _don’t_ smoke—or, even more unimaginable, people who have never smoked. But Kellin, like most Badlands residents, has lived here their whole life and knows nothing about the outside world, so they’re really just guessing. They’d like to think, though, that if they lived somewhere else, at least one person would scold them for smoking, for destroying their lungs at such a young age. They’d like to think that, in another city, there are billboards for organizations aimed at reducing the percentage of teenagers who smoke or drink underage. But Kellin wouldn’t know—they’ve never seen one.

This is where their mind goes one evening in late February. Really, all they’re doing is smoking a cigarette on a lonely bench, next to a street with a few cars parked on each side but hardly any people around. It’s the most relaxed they’ve felt in days, despite the moderately chilly air and the fact that they’ve got a bag of weed hidden underneath their tight-fitting shirt and slightly oversized leather jacket. But that’s their own business, and the only other people who need to know about it are their clients.

In Badlands, the only rule is simple: _Stay and obey._ No one is allowed in or out. A giant wall surrounds the entire city with watchtowers placed at a ten-foot interval, and anyone who approaches it is killed on sight by security guards. Outside of the wall is nothing but desert for as far as the eye can see, but everyone knows that the rest of the world exists out there. Even if it weren’t for the stories of people who have supposedly escaped Badlands, it’s very easy for Kellin to look up “Los Angeles, CA” on Google Maps. It’s there; it’s all there. The problem is that they can’t get to it.

One of the weirdest things about this place, in Kellin’s opinion, is the fact that there’s no information about it online. It doesn’t show up on a GPS. Its presence is suspiciously absent from Google. If someone who made it out somehow were to post an article titled “How to Escape Badlands,” it’d be found and removed immediately because of the way that the internet is monitored. It’s the kind of thing that leads a lot of residents to lose their grip on reality, because if it’s not on the internet, then it doesn’t exist, right?

The only crime besides trying to escape is questioning or rebelling against authority. That’s why Kellin is permanently on the police’s watch list: They used to dream of escape, and rebellion was their favorite hobby—until one night a couple years ago when they got caught with their boyfriend, Justin, painting an anti-government message on the interior wall of an abandoned building. The cops who found them killed Justin with no hesitation, and Kellin barely escaped with their life. Now they lay low, choking on their pride and dealing drugs in secret. Most other dealers are fairly open about their business, but Kellin tries not to be too public about anything. They know other dealers—their own mother included—have gotten arrested for rebellion against the government while the police claimed it was due to being a dealer. Everyone knows better than that, though; no drug is illegal in Badlands, and besides, half the time the police are on drugs, too.

As long as you aren’t a potential threat to authority, you can do anything you want.

The sound of footsteps getting closer breaks Kellin out of their little trance, and they finish up the last of their cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it. Just as they’re looking up, a familiar voice calls out, “Kellin!”

Kellin stands up and turns around, raising an eyebrow at two of their friends, Jack and Gabe. “Yeah?”

Jack, the one who spoke, says in a quieter voice, “You got any drugs on ya?”

Kellin rolls their eyes. “You got any money on ya?”

“No, he’s serious,” Gabe says. “The police have been doing, um, ‘random drug searches’ all day.” He puts “random drug searches” in air quotes. “If you have anything, give it to us and we’ll take care of it.”

Kellin sighs and glances around the area—yep, still a ghost town. “Okay,” they say slowly, reaching a hand underneath their jacket and shirt and pulling out the bag of marijuana. “Now take it,” they add quickly, shoving it in Gabe’s direction. “Friendly reminder: if you use any of it, you’ve gotta pay me back.”

“Got it, boss,” Jack says sarcastically as Gabe shoves the pot down his own shirt.

“Also,” Gabe adds, “is that _really_ all you’ve got? Come on, you can trust us.”

Kellin nods. “Yes, that’s really it. But if we’re meeting up later, I can run back to my place after the cops pat me down and get some other shit, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Jack says. “I found a guy whose dealer recently got arrested, so he’s looking for someone new to buy from.”

“Arrested?” Kellin repeats. “I didn’t hear anything about that. What’d they do?”

Gabe shrugs. “I mean, nothing that spectacular, really. He yelled at a bunch of cops one night when he was drunk off his ass. Wasn’t a smart move, obviously. Not sure of the context of it or why he got so pissed off, but clearly it was enough to get him into trouble. So.”

“Oh,” Kellin says. “That’s not exciting. But I’ll make sure to add ‘yelling at cops’ to my very long list of things that’ll get me arrested. If it’s not already on there.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something else, but he stops at the sound of sirens in the distance. “We better leave,” he says to Gabe. “They’re not gonna stop ‘til they find Kellin, and we’re not exactly helping by just standing here.”

Kellin snorts. “Yeah, really.” They make a playful swatting motion with their hand, smiling a little bit for the first time today. “Shoo. Begone with you.”

Almost as soon as Jack and Gabe are out of sight, the police car appears around the corner, parking on the side of the road. Kellin sighs as they watch two cops jump out—they’re both familiar-looking, but Kellin still can’t remember their names. Cops are all pretty much the same: tall, white, intimidating, often bearded. Kellin holds their hands up, ready to just get this pat-down procedure over with.

“Mr. Bostwick,” one of the cops says as they walk over, and Kellin scowls at the use of both the honorific “Mr.” and the last name “Bostwick.” Technically, yes, they’re documented as male due to their birth certificate, and technically, yes, their real last name is Bostwick, but that doesn’t mean that they have to like it. They’ve never been able to legally change their last name to Quinn, which is still considered their middle name, nor have they ever been able to legally be recognized as genderless. Maybe they could, but that would require paperwork, procedures, and a dangerous amount of interaction with members of the legal system. Which isn’t exactly ideal. So here they are, deciding to just suck it up and deal with it rather than try to tangle with the government. They’re already being watched way too carefully for their taste.

“I’m not a ‘mister’ and I’d prefer not to be a Bostwick,” Kellin says in a bored tone of voice, because they’ve said this many times before and have rarely been acknowledged. But it’s always worth a shot.

The cop who spoke rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah; whatever, queer. Show me what you’ve got and don’t try to hide anything.”

Two years ago, Kellin would have defended themself; at the very least, they would have snapped, “Don’t call me queer.” Not today, though. Today they just tell the truth: “I don’t have anything.”

Obviously, that doesn’t stop the cops from checking, patting Kellin down thoroughly on all sides and even going as far as to make sure there’s nothing hidden in their shoes. Of course, neither of them find anything except for Kellin’s phone, so after a quick round of questions that Kellin’s already answered a thousand times before, the cops finally admit defeat and trudge back to their car to find their next victim.

Kellin doesn’t relax at all until the police car is completely gone, and even then, they’re still on edge. The cops were surprisingly tame today; sometimes they get rough, pinning their suspect against a wall or the front of the car. Kellin hasn’t done anything “bad” in a while, though, so perhaps the authorities are easing up on them a little. They’re still on the watch list, though. They’ll probably be on the watch list until the day they die.

Now that the coast is clear, Kellin turns and starts to walk in the direction of their apartment building. With the sun down, the air feels chillier than it did earlier, but Kellin doesn’t really mind it. They’re used to the temperatures here, and besides, they’ve always been one to roam outside year-round, especially at nighttime. It’s just their lifestyle.

The apartment building is just like everything else in this wasted city: it’s tall in a way that’s menacing rather than awe-inspiring, and while it may look nice from a distance, it just becomes less and less appealing the closer you get to it. The lights that illuminate it are a faded, dusty kind of yellow, and inside, reality feels very slightly distorted, as if you’re living in some sort of hazy fever dream. Except you never wake up.

When Kellin gets to their apartment, the first thing they do is eat a small, cheap “dinner” that’s really nothing more than a snack. Every once in a while they’ll splurge on some pizza and breadsticks with their friends, but for the most part, they try to save every bit of money that they have (which isn’t a lot). Predictably, this means no gourmet meals. Kellin doesn’t mind that either, though; they just smoked a cigarette anyway, so they’re barely even hungry. They mostly just eat to survive. Then again, they could probably say that about everything they do.

Their dark red lip gloss has almost completely rubbed off, so Kellin takes the time to touch up their makeup and fix their admittedly messy hair. Their wardrobe is a mix of “men’s” and “women’s” clothes; they’re known for presenting either way to confuse people. This has resulted in various incidents of harassment, but that hasn’t happened much since they broke and fought back one night. They’re pretty sure the police don’t know about that, but the Badlands citizens, especially the ones who see Kellin on a regular basis, have all gotten the memo. Now most people leave them alone.

Once they have a fair amount of drugs hidden on their person, they leave again, heading off to meet their friends, along with their new client. It’s just an average night for them; the new guy is probably the most exciting thing to happen to them in the past week, and even then, Kellin’s excitement is very minimal. Since Justin died, apathy has been one of their most common emotions.

The city buzzes with bad intentions. Every building and landmark is a dead-looking crime scene covered in mold, rust, and graffiti. It’s not as busy out as it is during the warmer months, but there are still quite a few people wandering around, especially in the more populated areas—and none of them are to be trusted. Leery men with bloodshot eyes stare at Kellin like they’re a piece of meat, and the attractive young girls who paint themselves as innocent would just as soon kill you as look at you (Kellin should know—their sister is one such girl). It’s just like every other night.

After trekking along the busier roads and mostly sticking to the sidewalk for a while, Kellin hops off the beaten path and into a familiar alley that leads to the place where they usually hang out with their friends. It’s really just the back of an empty store area that used to be an antiques shop before it went out of business. Nobody has done anything with it since then, so they use it as their own little meeting place. On nights that aren’t too busy, they’ll just stay outside, but all they have to do is pick the lock on the back door to get inside, so they’ll often sit in there, too.

Jack is already chatting with some other friends of theirs by the time Kellin arrives. “Hey, look who made it!” he says, waving. “How’d it go with the cops?”

Kellin shrugs. “The usual. Didn’t find anything. But I did stop back at my place to grab some more shit.” They pull some weed out from underneath their shirt and toss it to Telle, who promptly hands Kellin his money in return. “Should we go inside, or…?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack replies, opening the door to the empty room. After they picked the lock for the first time to get the door open, they agreed on leaving it unlocked most nights, especially if they knew they’d be back soon. It’s not like it matters—nobody else comes here.

“Where’s Gabe?” Kellin asks once everyone is inside and standing around (Telle has already started smoking a joint—typical).

“He agreed to be our watchdog for the night,” Jack explains. “Just in case the police decide to go through this area or check up on you again.”

“Oh, boy,” a new voice pipes up. “The cops really like to keep an eye on you, huh, Kell?”

Kellin turns around to face the source of the voice and is met with an oddly familiar face, though it’s one that they haven’t seen in quite a while. The guy is skinny, short, and tan, with long, messy brown hair and dark, tired-looking eyes. It seems he hasn’t changed much in the last four years or so.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says. “This is the new guy I was telling you about earlier, Kells. The one whose last dealer got arrested. Name’s Vic.”

Kellin nods slowly, a tiny smile starting to form on their face. “Oh, I know Vic.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Wait, really? How?”

“We met a little over four years ago,” Vic tells him, though he doesn’t give an explanation as to how they met. “Very briefly. Kellin was about sixteen, and I was twenty, almost twenty-one.”

Well, he’s not lying.

Vic leaves it at that as Kellin pulls out the rest of their drugs, mostly weed and amphetamines, and starts to deal them out. They know know exactly how much each person (except for Vic) typically buys, so the process is done fairly quickly. Tonight’s one of those nights where they just sell to their closest friends, their most loyal clients (because in reality, they wouldn’t have even met most of these people if they weren’t dealing drugs).

When it’s all said and done, Kellin finally allows themself to turn their attention back to Vic. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I just brought some extras of what I usually deal,” they say, trying to keep their tone businesslike. “Are you still a speed kind of guy?”

Vic shoots them a charming grin. “I try some other stuff every now and then, but for the most part, yeah.” He shakes his head. “Following in your mother’s footsteps, I see.”

Kellin just shrugs, their face heating up a little at the memories of that short-lived fling. The truth is that they met Vic because he was buying drugs from their mom shortly before she got arrested. “Someone’s gotta do it. And I can tell you right now that I’m the best dealer you’ll ever have,” they assure him with a cocky, flirty smirk. “I’m the fucking queen.”

Vic’s smile widens as he looks them up and down. “I don’t doubt that.”

The two end up sitting down on the floor, their backs against the wall as Vic gives Kellin the money and hides his amphetamines in the pockets of his jacket. “I kind of can’t believe I’m seeing you again,” he says. “Small world, huh?” Then he frowns at his own word choice. “Literally.”

Kellin snorts resentfully. They know exactly what he means. Badlands is a big city, but when your entire world is nothing but that city, it starts to feel tiny and suffocating, especially compared to the vast amount of land outside the walls. “To be honest, I didn’t really think we’d ever meet again, either,” they say, smiling a little. “You’re still as cute as I remember.”

Vic smiles back, leaning in slightly closer to them. “So are you, gorgeous.”

Kellin’s smile widens, but before they can even think to respond, Jack’s voice rings out suddenly: “Shit. Gabe just texted me. Said he overheard police say they’re specifically looking to double-check Kellin, and they’re coming this way. And they already know that we hang out here sometimes. So, um, shit.”

Vic turns to Kellin, his eyes narrowed as they both pull themselves up to their feet. “I thought they already searched you today.”

“They did,” Kellin replies, a bitter smirk on their lips. “Guess they don’t trust me.”

Vic’s mouth curves back up into an intrigued little half-smile, his eyes twinkling with admiration. “Guess they’re scared of you.”

As everyone in the group tries to hide their drugs in their pockets or underneath their clothes and plan out where they’ll all go to hide, Kellin can’t help but replay that phrase in their head: _Guess they’re scared of you._ It seems kind of ridiculous. The police are the ones in control, the ones with the upper hand. Then again, the reason Kellin is always being harassed and checked up on is because they’ve been labeled as dangerous. The reason they’ve always been told to be nice and keep their pretty mouth shut is because if they don’t, they’ll be deemed a threat to society and chased down. Perhaps Vic isn’t too far off the mark.

Once they’ve all established that they’ll be meeting at a club a few blocks down, everyone leaves the store area and splits up, Kellin going by themself down a bunch of alleys and back roads to avoid getting caught. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, but they still can’t help the adrenaline rush that pushes them forward. They’re not going to end up like their mother or Justin. They can’t.

The irony that plagues most Badlands citizens, Kellin included, is the fact that most of them hate their lives and believe that there’s not much worth living for…yet whenever they’re pursued by cops, they still run. Kellin isn’t sure about anyone else, but as for them, the idea of dying at the hands of the bourgeoisie just fills them with hatred and rage. If they’re going to die soon, it’ll be on their own terms. If anything, being chased by the police just makes them want to live. It makes them want to survive to say that they did it, that they didn’t succumb to the wrath of the authorities. It makes them want their very existence to be an act of rebellion.

When they emerge out of the last alley and onto the sidewalk next to the main road, Kellin finds Jack already a few paces ahead, acting like he’s got somewhere important to be as he strides up to the front door of the club. They follow him in a few seconds later, breathing a sigh of relief as they immediately blend in with the masses of dancing, drinking people.

They skip out on the bar, deciding instead to just sort of hang out at the edge of the dance floor, leaning up against the wall and watching everyone else around them. Many of them are probably hostile or dangerous, but right now Kellin can’t really hate any of them. This is the place for people who are tired of reality to just let go and lose themselves in the alcohol and flashing lights. Their desire for some sort of escape is something that Kellin understands all too well.

Unfortunately, they’re not alone for long. Just as they’re starting to get comfortable, a gruff voice startles them: “What’s a kid like you doing here all by yourself?”

Shivers automatically send themselves down Kellin’s spine at those words, and when they turn around to find the source, they’re not very relieved with what they see: an older man suddenly standing next to them, clearly intoxicated.

“I’m twenty-one,” they lie. Technically, they don’t turn twenty-one until April, but they figure it’s close enough. “And I’m, um, standing.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Really? That seems boring. Why don’t you come out and dance?”

Kellin forces themself to maintain eye contact. “I don’t like dancing.”

“Everyone likes dancing,” the man insists, and all of a sudden, he’s _way_ too close. “I can show you.” With that, he starts to wrap both of his hands around Kellin’s waist.

“Fuck off,” Kellin snaps, shoving one of his hands away and stepping backward, their heart pounding fast. First the police, now some creepy dude. Before they can give him a chance to respond, they push through bunches of people until they’re deep in the dance floor crowd, hidden by all the people grinding up against each other, most of whom are a lot larger than Kellin.

Once they’re sure that they’re not being followed, they try to relax, even though it’s super hot in here and they don’t know anybody. They can’t really focus on dancing or the music, though, because barely a minute after they escaped being harassed by one creepy dude, they feel a fucking hand grabbing their ass.

They whirl around. “Hey!” they yell. This time, the guy is fairly young, probably only a few years older than Kellin, but still creepy and grinning like he’s proud of himself for pissing them off. “What the hell?” Kellin says, gritting their teeth as they rush out of the crowd. Jack is sitting at the bar, so that’s where they head next.

“Oh, hey,” Jack says when they sit down on an empty barstool next to him. “Good news. Gabe kept an eye on everything, and he says the police already went past our place, and they’re now heading in the opposite direction. And most of the other cops have pretty much finished up their rounds.”

Kellin just nods, unable to say anything through the disgust boiling in their throat. Suddenly they remember why they don’t really like going to clubs: they always get touched inappropriately by gross men. Always.

“Hey, beautiful,” a voice on Kellin’s other side drawls. Kellin cringes and risks a glance in the direction of the voice: another fucking creepy old man with droopy eyes and hands that he can’t keep to himself. “I haven’t seen someone as pretty as you in a long time.”

Speaking of gross men.

Kellin shudders. “I don’t care,” they say simply. How much more of this are they going to have to take before the night’s over? At this point, they just want to be alone.

The man whistles. “Ooh. You’re cranky tonight, aren’t ya? It that time of the month?”

For someone who doesn’t even have a uterus, Kellin has managed to get a surprising amount of period remarks, and each one just gets more and more annoying. “No. I just don’t want to talk to you,” they say, about ready to break something.

“You don’t even need to talk, honey,” the guy says, grinning in the most terrifying way. “How ‘bout you and I go out back, and I can put your mouth to work?”

The man’s fucking zip is down, and if Kellin isn’t mistaken, he’s got a motherfucking bulge in his pants, too.

“What the fuck? No!” Kellin yelps. Without even thinking, they grab the man’s half-empty liquor bottle off of the counter and hit him over the head with it.

They let go of the bottle and jump off the barstool right at the moment of impact, not even looking to see what sort of damage they do to the guy. There are too many people and too much noise, and right now all they need is to get the hell out of here.

Fortunately, they find the exit fairly quickly and shove the door open, sighing in relief at the cool winter air. They make their way over to the side of the bar and sit down against the wall with their knees pulled up to their chest, shaking with anger.

A few seconds later, they hear the door open again, and they brace themself for the worst, only relaxing once they see that the person following them out is Vic. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

Kellin scowls, though their outrage isn’t directed at him. “Three men thought it would be cool to sexually harass me and I just hit one of them in the head with a liquor bottle. What do _you_ think?”

Vic just nods, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I, uh…I liked what you did back there, though. With the bottle.”

Kellin narrows their eyes at him. “You saw that?”

“Yeah,” Vic says. “I was sitting a couple stools away from Jack. It was kind of badass, I’ll admit.”

Kellin just gives him a sad little half-smile. They weren’t thinking about being badass when they did it. “I was just standing up for myself.”

Vic shrugs. “Well, that’s more than a lot of people can say. Personally, I think standing up for yourself is pretty badass.”

Kellin’s smile widens ever so slightly, but it still doesn’t feel completely genuine. It’s exciting to see Vic again, but they’ve already put their walls back up, and it’s gonna hurt him a lot if he wants to try to break through. They’re not the foolish little kid that they were four years ago.

“I think I’m just gonna go home,” they say slowly, standing back up and taking a deep breath. “I’ll be seeing you, then?”

“Um, yeah,” Vic says, flashing them a reassuring smile. “I’m one of your clients now.” Then he turns and starts to head back into the club, throwing a “See you later, Kells” over his shoulder.

Kellin takes a few moments to pull their thoughts together. Then they turn around and head in the opposite direction, deeper into the maze of dark, less populated roads that will lead them back to their apartment building, where at the very least, they can sleep.

Throwing a bottle at that guy released most of their anger, and now the rest of it has dwindled down to barely anything, replaced by that familiar feeling of numbness. This is just the way it is. This is the way it’s always been and the way it always will be, so there’s no use in crying about it.


	2. Hold Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i have a tag on my aesthetic blog on tumblr for pics and things that remind me of badlands so if u want u can [look thru that](http://cnstellationsgold.tumblr.com/tagged/bl) for fun or to better imagine aspects of the story/setting :-) also [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B0ACITeIEAM-UyW.jpg) image is used as inspiration for this chapter

By April, Vic has become one of Kellin’s main buyers. At first, Kellin thought it would be nothing more than that, but it’s becoming clear that the two of them have actually started to bond again, if only slightly. Kellin would be lying if they said that they didn’t enjoy the secret shared looks and inside jokes, the brief moments of flirting peppered with the brush of his hand against theirs every now and then. Kellin isn’t quite sure what this is or what it’s supposed to be, but they kind of like it. They kind of want more.

If they’re completely honest, Vic’s reappearance is one of the most exciting things to happen to them in recent months. Sure, their routine might not have changed much, but with Vic, there’s more mystery, more intrigue. Kellin knows where they stand with the rest of their friends and clients. With Vic, there’s more to figure out. There’s more of a thrill when they’re with him.

From what Kellin has seen so far, Vic is both the same and different. He’s still got his natural charm, his bravado, his desire to rebel—some of the traits that Kellin has always admired in him. The main difference is the fact that now, at twenty-five, he’s more mature, and with that maturity comes not only anger, but melancholy. It’s faint, and he hides it well, but Kellin can hear it in the way he talks about this place sometimes, can see it in the desperate way he pops pills to make himself feel better. It’s not all fun and games like it used to be.

Sometimes, instead of hanging out in a large group, Kellin and Vic head out alone like old times. Tonight is one of those nights, where everyone is off doing their own thing and Kellin just isn’t really interested in socializing with a whole bunch of people. Vic didn’t really have any plans, either, so here they are, roaming around Badlands as if they’ve never seen these streets before. Kellin isn’t that good at small talk, but that’s okay because Vic is. Besides, their small talk often doesn’t last long, usually shifting to something more serious or in depth within five minutes. Sometimes, when Vic is high, Kellin just lets him talk, genuinely listening and nodding along with everything he says, even if it’s as random as rambling on about the conspiracy theory that the moon landing was faked. _Especially_ if it’s that random.

“So,” Kellin says as they wander farther away from the more populated areas of the city. “What’ve you been up to? All I know is that you still do drugs, which I could’ve guessed because I don’t know a single person over the age of sixteen who _doesn’t_ do some type of drug. But I feel like you’re always up to something. Any exciting stories for me? We still haven’t really caught up.”

Vic shrugs, a frown briefly crossing his face before he quickly covers it up with a little smile, as if he’s just remembered something unpleasant. “Surprisingly, I don’t have that many thrilling stories,” he replies. “The cops have their eyes on me and some friends of mine, so I’ve been trying to lay low like you have.” He shakes his head. “It’s been a blur of getting high, occasionally getting into fights, stealing things and selling them…”

Kellin laughs a little. “Oh, right. I forgot about your little ‘job.’ Does that really work? I didn’t think most people owned anything that’s, y’know, worth anything.”

“You’ve gotta go into the rich neighborhoods where all the conservative old men and their trophy wives live,” he explains. “Tons of weird little statuettes, jewelry made out of solidified angel blood, wine glasses and fine china worth more than my whole apartment…you’d be surprised.”

Kellin snorts at the subtle sarcasm hidden in his phrasing. “I can see that your sense of humor is still there underneath the Badlands bitterness.”

“‘Badlands bitterness,’” Vic repeats with a satisfied, admiring smile. “Did you just make that up? I like it. I think it describes most people’s feelings pretty accurately, even the ones who don’t want to escape or rebel. You’ve gotten over the initial shock, and you’ve either made peace with your crippling depression or you’re desperately trying to ignore it, and now you’re just bitter. Huh.”

This is what Kellin means when they say that their small talk with Vic usually doesn’t last very long.

For the next half hour or so, they switch from lamenting about their situation to discussing old horror movies. Walking side by side and caught up in conversation, neither of them pay much attention to where they’re going—all the streets feel natural, and there aren’t too many places that they see as being too dangerous or off-limits. Kellin doesn’t even notice where they’re at until they walk past an eerily familiar abandoned building.

“What?” Vic says when Kellin stops in their tracks. He glances over at the building, confused. “What is it?”

Kellin knows exactly where they are, and they wish that they didn’t. Their throat feels like it’s closing up and their stomach is lurching, but still they feel compelled to head up to the door, as if they have to be absolutely certain that this is what they think it is.

“Kellin!” Vic says, following them as they swing the door open and step inside the musty, cobweb-infested building. “What are you doing?”

It’s dark, but the moon and the city lights shine through the broken windows, making it easy to see the graffiti on one of the walls. Written clearly in blue paint is the phrase “IF YOU THINK THIS IS BAD YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT OUR GOVERNMENT IS UP TO.” It’s the phrase that Kellin and Justin got caught writing that fateful night. It’s the phrase that cost Justin his life.

“Whoa,” Vic says. Kellin expects him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“I…” They turn around to face him, feeling sick and anxious, images of Justin’s bloodied and lifeless body flashing through their mind. “I h-have to go. I’m sorry.”

With that, they turn around and push the door back open, rushing out into the cool night air. Vic calls out Kellin’s name, but Kellin doesn’t stop or look back. They have to get away from this place, have to run from the demons wreaking havoc in their head. It would be nice to be able to just get over it so that this didn’t bother them, but it’s not that simple; suddenly Kellin is in the worst sort of mood, a fire and a storm raging in their grief-filled veins. It doesn’t matter that it happened over a year ago. Memories are vicious animals with teeth and claws, and Kellin feels like they’re being eaten alive.

They run like the devil is on their heels, past old broken down cars and buildings made of rust and grime. If they run fast enough, they won’t be able to focus on anything other than squeezing air in and out of their lungs, and once they’re back in their apartment, they’ll be so exhausted that they won’t be able to stay awake long enough to relive that awful night. That’s all they want right now: to forget about what they just saw, to block it out like they’ve been doing ever since it happened.

Just as they start to slow down, only a few blocks away from their apartment building, the sounds of multiple gunshots ring out around them in succession. It’s too far away for Kellin to tell what sort of shooting it was or what kind of person committed it, but right now they really don’t care, because all they can think about is the gunshots that ended Justin’s struggle. All they can think about is how the two had been fighting with knives and fists, how they thought that maybe they could get out of it alive, when one cop decided he’d had enough and pulled out his gun to make things easier. They can remember running as soon as the bullets lodged themselves into Justin’s brain, how one barely grazed their shoulder as they ran for their life, coughing up blood and fighting for consciousness.

Kellin stops, leaning up against one of the nearby buildings and gasping out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a scream. Fuck them. Fuck all of them.

When they finally make it to their apartment, they kick off their shoes and toss their jacket onto the floor, and then they stumble into their bedroom and crawl under the covers, burying their face in their pillow. They don’t even take off their makeup; their heart feels like it’s going to explode from all the anger and misery welling up inside of them. Suicidal thoughts replace numbness more often than they should, and right now, Kellin is completely overcome by the desire to fall asleep and never, ever wake up.

—

For the next couple weeks, Kellin fights their demons like everyone else in Badlands does: with sex and drugs. They hook up with beautiful strangers for nights of mildly intoxicated pleasure and get high during the lonely hours between midnight and sunrise. They still see Vic when dealing, but other than that, they’ve been ignoring him, mostly because they’re not sure what to say or how to pick their friendship back up after freaking out like that. They feel sick and weird, and they can’t help but wonder if Vic just sees them as an emotional time bomb now, always on the brink of an explosion.

Tonight is a lot like any other night. Since it’s been getting warmer, they’ve felt more comfortable wearing clothing that shows some skin—in this case, it’s a pleated black tennis skirt with a black-and-white striped crop top. Their plan is to use their good looks to get someone in bed with them. As they’re walking down the street, though, they find themself subjected to hoots and hollers from a small group of drunk young guys heading toward them.

“Hey,” one of them says as they get closer. “Where you headed, sweetheart?”

Kellin takes a step back. “I’m just walking around,” they say quietly, glancing around in search of an escape. Unfortunately, the guys have already surrounded them, subtly backing them up against the wall of one of the buildings.

“Just walking around, huh?” sneers the guy who spoke. He leans in close, alcohol on his breath and a hungry look in his eyes. “Why don’t you stay for a little while, honey? We could show you some fun.”

Suddenly, the second guy has a hand on the hem of their skirt while the third one grabs one of their hands and pins it against the wall. Kellin’s heart is pounding fast; deep down they know they need to fight back, but they’re frozen in fear as the guy lifts their skirt up. “Stop,” they squeak, feeling helpless. They use their free hand to shove his hand away, but it’s too late; the guys have already caught a glimpse of the slight bulge in their underwear.

“What the fuck?” the first guy says, lifting their skirt back up again. Kellin desperately pushes at his chest, but he just grabs their other hand, an unreadable but utterly terrifying look on his face. “It’s a fucking tra—”

He only gets about halfway through what Kellin assumes is supposed to be “the T-word” before he’s interrupted by a fist to his face. The other two boys jump back automatically when the attacker punches the first guy again, watching him stumble as he holds his face.

“Get your hands off and leave them the fuck alone,” Vic snarls, “or I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.” He turns to the other two, who are frozen in shock. “That goes for the both of you, too, you fucking perverts. Get out of here.”

The guys exchange glances before rushing away without a word. Kellin doesn’t relax until the group is completely out of sight. “God,” they sigh, sliding down to the ground and pulling their knees up to their chest. “Thank you.”

Vic shrugs. “It’s nothing.” He scowls. “That’s fucking disgusting, what they were doing to you.”

“I know,” Kellin replies. “Ugh. I feel like a fucking damsel in distress. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let them treat you like that,” Vic says. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you could fight back. I just can’t handle watching people do that to you. To anyone. Even if you were doing a great job fending them off yourself, I probably still would’ve jumped in anyway. I’m just not the type of person to stand there and watch.”

Kellin nods. A few seconds of silence follow, and then Vic sits down next to them. “So,” he says slowly. “We ended on kind of a weird note the last time we hung out.”

Kellin bites their lip, feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry about that,” they say. “I just kind of freaked out.”

“It’s okay,” Vic says almost immediately. “We all freak out sometimes. Lord knows I do, too. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Kellin doesn’t respond for a few seconds, contemplating whether or not they want to reveal the reason for their little breakdown. It’s strange, but they actually feel pretty comfortable with him, so they say, “That was the place where my old boyfriend died.”

Vic raises his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. Oh my God, Kells, I’m so sorry.”

“He and I were the ones who wrote that saying on the wall,” Kellin continues. “But we got caught. The cops obviously didn’t like it, so they…you know.” They take a deep breath. “It still hurts.”

Vic puts his arm around their shoulder. Kellin’s plan to find someone random to sleep with has since flown out the window; now all they want to do is sit with Vic, maybe share a joint or a cigarette. It’s enough to keep them satisfied, enough to feel okay for a little while, but they know that once the night ends, they’ll be back fighting the devil that’s trying to hold them down underwater and drown them in despair.


	3. New Americana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i’m a piece of shit when it comes to updating but if you’ve been following me for a while then you already know that. i want to finish this story as well as cataclysm and i miss writing a lot. i hate writing big long author’s note so yeah i’m not dead and i put my heart and soul into this chapter like i do with everything else so i hope you enjoy, the situation shown in this chapter was inspired by halsey’s “new americana” music video

By the time May rolls around, Kellin and Vic have rebuilt their relationship back to the “friendship” level, though neither of them dare to take it any farther. The memories of their long-ago fling are still there, of course, but they’ve started to fade in the wake of something new and different. They’ve started going on late-night outings together again like they used to, but there’s less of the thrill that they felt when they were younger. Both of them have hardened since those days, and now they walk the streets like seasoned veterans, wishing they were still blissfully unaware of just how much worse things could get.

Tonight, as they’re roaming side by side throughout the city, they pass by a familiar corner, one that everyone was talking about only days ago. It’s right at the edge of a particularly busy and cop-infested street, where a small group of people protested—and were, inevitably, shot down. Literally.

“This is where that protest was the other day,” Kellin says, “isn’t it?” It’s not even a question—they already know for a fact that this is exactly where those protesters stood.

“Yeah,” Vic replies, gritting his teeth, his face darkening. “It is.”

Though it’s far from the first protest in Badlands history, there’s been an increase in these sorts of events in the past few weeks—and, as a result, the amount of police brutality has also increased. It’s been a flurry of tear gas, shootings, and violent seizures of protesters who haven’t been seen since their arrests, and while Vic has mentioned it once or twice, Kellin hasn’t heard him properly speak on it. They can probably guess how he feels, though, if his disdain for the police remains intact.

Vic picks up his pace, turning suddenly and jaywalking across the street, headed in the opposite direction of the busier areas. Kellin follows him curiously, calling, “Vic, what…?”

Vic hops into a nearby alleyway, then sits down on the ground with his back against the wall. He gestures for Kellin to sit down next to him, and with questions on their lips, they do. “What’s wrong?” they ask softly.

Now that they’re alone and close together, Kellin can decipher Vic’s emotions more easily. He’s truly angry, and he’s not holding anything back.

“It just…it makes me so….” He shakes his head, scowling, eyebrows furrowing. “I can’t even begin to describe how upset it makes me. How angry. That to protest is to commit suicide, because no protester is ever seen alive afterward. I hate how the police have control over all of us, how the few in power have everything while the rest of us fight each other for scraps. Those protesters didn’t deserve to be treated the way they were. People like you and I don’t deserve to be beaten for having opinions, for daring to speak out against our situation. They just want us to sit down and shut up, to deal with our suffering alone and without complaint, and if we don’t, they’ll make us.” He glances back up at Kellin, his lip trembling, a gleam in his eyes the likes of which Kellin hasn’t seen in years.

“You’re right,” Kellin says, their voice cracking. He’s said everything that they’ve been thinking but that they were always too afraid to say.

“I try to hide it,” Vic continues, his voice staying about the same in volume but growing in intensity. “I try to just live my life. I get high to forget how angry I am. But you know I’ve never been one to ignore injustice, to turn a blind eye to cruelty, and I hope to God that I never will be. I _can’t_ just deal with it, Kellin. I can’t. I won’t. Maybe that’s my fatal flaw, but I don’t fucking care. I’d rather die at the hands of some ruthless, power-hungry cop who shoots first and asks questions later than have to live the rest of my life like this.”

Kellin nods slowly, something exciting and terrifying starting to flow through their veins. “Me too,” Kellin says, hoping those few words convey to Vic just how much he’s moved them with just one rant. “Me fucking too.” Their heart has started pounding with fear and rage, breaking through the numbness that’s enveloped them since Justin’s death. All of a sudden, they feel rebellious and alive for the first time in a long time, and it feels so fucking good.

“Hey,” Vic says suddenly, seeming to partially shake off his anger. “So, I know this seems kinda random, but I’ve been meaning to introduce you to some of my friends, show you a little hangout of ours. Or, well, it’s mostly theirs, but I come around sometimes. It’s a good place to be if you wanna sorta let loose, and it’s not too far from here.”

“Okay,” Kellin says almost immediately, hopping to their feet. Right now, they’d let Vic take them anywhere. They’d follow him to the ends of the earth if it would mean that they’d get to feel this way. “Let’s go.”

Vic leads the way, into an area of Badlands with smaller, more run-down houses, as opposed to the skyscrapers with big neon signs and apartment complexes with hundreds of windows. He walks like he’s on a mission, not slowing down until he reaches the back entrance of a long, one-story building. Kellin can tell immediately, though, that while it may have been abandoned originally, it is nowhere near uninhabited. They can faintly hear the pounding bass of music playing from inside, and through the small window in the door, they can see flashes of light and moving silhouettes. Vic doesn’t bother knocking; it’s too loud in there to be heard, and besides, it’s not like the door is locked. The warehouse itself is in a kind of obscure place, an area Kellin doesn’t visit too often, so it’s not likely to be a particular hot spot for bored cops looking for people to arrest (though they could probably find some).

As soon as Vic opens the door, he and Kellin are greeted with blasting music, heat, and an odd smell that seems to be a mixture of sweat, smoke, and other substances. As Vic heads inside, Kellin closing the door behind them, they’re approached by a tall, skinny guy with a fair amount of tattoos, including an owl on his neck. “Hey, Vic!”

“Tony,” Vic replies with a grin. “Long time no see.”

Tony glances over at Kellin, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Is this who you’ve been abandoning us for?” he says teasingly. “Have you officially become that person who leaves all their friends for the person they’re dating?”

“Hey!” Vic says indignantly, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t act like you and Mike didn’t leave us all to go fuck in the bathroom when you two first got together. Besides, I didn’t know when the right time was to introduce you. Also,” he adds, “we’re not dating.”

Part of Kellin had been hoping he wouldn’t comment on that.

“Hi,” they say. “I’m Kellin. Need any drugs? I’ve got loads. Vic can vouch for me.”

Tony laughs, briefly surveying the room that they’re in, which has no shortage of stoned or intoxicated people in it. “I think we’re good for now,” he says (an understatement). “But I’ll be sure to hit you up next time.”

Kellin takes a moment to fully take everything in. They’re in the back room (which makes sense, considering they entered through the back door), and the door is wide open to reveal a long hallway with people scattered around, some sitting down against the wall, others roaming from room to room. The music is coming from an old but still clearly functional stereo in one corner of the room, and a makeshift tinfoil disco ball hangs from the ceiling, creating occasional shards of white when the light hits it just right. It seems like it should have the vibe of a large party, but it feels more personal somehow. Everyone clearly knows each other, and the few people dancing around in the middle of the room are more messing around than anything Kellin would expect on the dance floor of a nightclub.

“This is our little home away from home,” Vic says. “As for the people who come here, it’s mostly a conglomeration of smaller friend groups that have just sort of converged into one big friend group.” He makes his way toward the hallway, beckoning for Kellin to come with him. “I can show you around.”

Kellin nods, still in too much awe to say much of anything. It feels as though everyone in this building is connected. In here, they don’t really feel like loners on the very fringes of society. They don’t feel like outsiders at all.

Vic nods to a few people hanging out in the hallway, passing a joint around. He explains to Kellin that usually the only reason doors are closed is if some people are using the room for sex. Some couples are still publicly making out, though, and according to Vic, sometimes there are casual lap dances or strip teases going on. But it’s not just intimacy, either; there are also people practicing their fighting skills with each other, as well as various games taking place, ranging from spin the bottle to card games to billiards (Jaime, another one of Vic’s friends, has a rich uncle who apparently gave him a pool table for his birthday).

The rest of the inside of the building is decorated similarly to the back room, filled with stolen things as well as handmade decorations like the disco ball. “Most of the stolen items are my handiwork,” Vic says with a proud half-smile.

Kellin rolls their eyes, laughing a little. “Oh, quit bragging, cat burglar.”

For as long as they’ve known him, Vic’s most prominent talent has been his ability to steal. It’s true that he sells most of the things he finds, but he also keeps his favorite items, either for his own home or, evidently, this place. Not only does he steal large, conspicuous items (such as the neon Miller Lite sign) with ease; he also has the stealth and agility of a cat burglar, often climbing through windows and across roofs to take things from apartments on the third story or higher. Kellin’s seen him in action before, and it’s pretty damn impressive.

“Aw, come on,” Vic says playfully as the two sit down on a mattress in one corner of the room with the Miller Lite sign in it. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda awesome.”

Kellin nods, only milliseconds away from replying when all of a sudden, in the distance, they hear someone busting a door open, followed by screaming.

Kellin and Vic both stand up immediately, and everyone else around them stops whatever they were doing in confusion and alarm. The music in the back room shuts off abruptly, and then Kellin can hear very clearly the loud, harsh voices of men shouting: “Line ‘em all up!”

The cops.

Already people have started for the front entrance, but the police must have come in that way, too; they’re blocking every escape route, and hardly any of the rooms have windows in order to keep the inside hidden. Before anyone can even think of a plan, they’re all ushered into one of the windowless rooms, harshly shoved or prodded with guns. Most of them protest, Kellin and Vic included, but it’s no use—within half a minute, every single person in the building has been rounded up and shoved into the room, guarded by a multitude of hostile police officers.

“Which one of you was it?” one of them demands, pacing back and forth and glaring menacingly. “We got an anonymous tip from someone who overheard a couple of you freaks slandering us earlier tonight. Contacted us while following you from deeper in the city, and we found you at this place.” He zeroes in on Kellin, Vic, and a few other people that look kind of like them, namely Tony and Vic’s brother, Mike. “We’ve got an idea of what you look like, so don’t bother trying to hide.”

Kellin’s heart drops down into their stomach. Realistically, anyone hanging out in this building could’ve been talking shit on the police, but they’re pretty sure they know the exact conversation that this guy is referencing.

 _Fuck._ They grit their teeth, taking a deep breath in an attempt at staying calm. _We should’ve been more careful. We shouldn’t have said anything at all._

“You have no right to just round us up like this,” an indignant voice protests. Kellin, whose gaze has mostly been trained on the floor, looks up, only somewhat surprised when they realize that the speaker is none other than the person standing right next to them.  
  


“Who do you think you are?” Vic says defiantly. Everyone’s eyes are on him now, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Even if one of us was ‘slandering’ you guys, you know what? You _should_ be getting shit for the way you all treated those protesters, and for the way you’re treating us right now. Where did our right to free speech go, huh?”

“You never had it,” another officer snaps. “For as long as you are within the confines of this city—which will be forever—you have never had, nor will you ever have, the right to speak freely if you are going to encourage rebellion.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Vic snaps back, becoming more and more enraged by the second. “What if you can’t figure out which one of us said that shit? What if we all deny it? Are you gonna arrest all of us? Or are you just gonna pick one of us and say, ‘Yeah, let’s just say it was that one?’ In fact, why didn’t you bring your witness with you to pick us out—”

With that, the first officer to speak steps forward and grabs Vic by the collar of his shirt. “The person in question wished to remain anonymous.” He grins, showcasing a mouthful of too-perfect teeth. “Besides, with the way you’re talking, I think we’ve already found our culprit.”

“Wait!”

Kellin doesn’t even realize that the word is out of their mouth until the officer turns to look at them and narrows his eyes.

“Don’t hurt him. He’s innocent,” they lie, their heart pounding with fear as they try to keep their voice steady. “He’s just making a spectacle of himself so he can protect me.”

“Kellin—” Vic starts, eyes widening in shock.

“It was me,” they continue, shooting a glance at Vic that they hope says, _Let me handle this._ “And I’m not sorry.” Their voice grows stronger, making their claim sound more convincing.

“I think it’s true,” one of the other officers pipes up, gesturing to Kellin. “This kid looks familiar.”

Kellin looks the first officer straight in the eye, attempting to match the defiance that Vic demonstrates so effortlessly. “It was me alone. Arrest me, imprison me, I don’t care.”

The second officer to speak cracks a wicked smirk. “Who said anything about prison?”

Before anyone can react, Kellin feels rough hands grab them from behind, yanking them backward out of the lineup. They yelp as both their arms are twisted behind their back and they’re pulled out of the room, which soon erupts with protests. Vic’s voice is the loudest of them all, shouting nothing but Kellin’s name, as if he doesn’t know what else to say.

Kellin struggles in the officers’ iron grip, but it’s no use; before they know it, they’ve been escorted down the hall and shoved out the front door. Two cops hold onto them, one grabbing each arm and leading them down to the sidewalk, where one of the men harshly pushes them down onto the rough concrete, causing them to scrape their knees. Kellin curses themself for deciding to wear shorts in the warmer weather, but within a few seconds, they realize that scraped knees will soon be the least of their problems.

They’re no longer bound, but they barely have the time to even think about climbing to their feet before one of the cops smacks them hard in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun. Kellin lowers their head, instinctively covering it with their hands, but it doesn’t stop any of the cops from hitting them again, this time on the shoulder with a baton.

Kellin glances up briefly and notices that a crowd is gathering around, even though it’s late at night. From what they can see, it looks like most of them are members of the proletariat, all living a similar situation to Kellin’s. They’re not cheering or booing—they’re just standing there, watching with grave expressions on their faces. On the one hand, Kellin wishes that at least one of them would try to help, but on the other hand, they can understand why no one would want to, why no one would dare.

“This,” one of the cops says to the crowd as the baton slaps Kellin’s hands, “is what happens when you conspire against us.”

“I wasn’t—” Kellin’s sentence is cut off by another particularly hard smack to the back of the neck.

“This is what happens when you disobey!” the cop continues, raising his voice while Kellin sinks down further and further, feeling weak and helpless, knowing that even if they try to escape, they’ll just be caught and punished even more.

The hits of the baton stop for a short moment, but only so that another one of the cops can tackle Kellin, shoving them onto their stomach and then forcing them to lie on their back. And then he swings his baton again.

That’s around the time that Kellin tries to check out, tries to just endure the pain. The blows are fueled with the officer’s rage at being disrespected, as well as his hatred of Kellin’s “kind.” They can tell that their face is a mess of blood and swelling, but they don’t even care—they’ve already accepted that this is probably how it’s going to end, beaten to death slowly and painfully so that their mangled body can be used as propaganda to keep the rest of Badlands in line. It’s happened to so many others before.

And then: a flash of darkness, too quick to make out, tackling the cop with a short battle cry. The person jabs the cop in both eyes, then swipes the baton from out of his hand, tiny and nimble and quick. “Get up!” they say, reaching out to Kellin as someone else, someone bigger and stronger, keeps the cop pinned to the ground.

Kellin scrambles to their feet, all dizziness and pounding pain, and the person—a girl named Lynn, they realize now from a brief introduction earlier—guides them away from the action. As they take the scene in, it becomes clear that the people inside the building have led an attack on the cops—an attack to rescue Kellin.

“Oh my God,” Kellin gasps in awe as Lynn leads them down a quieter side street, where a car is parked on the side of the road and already running—and in the driver’s seat waits Vic.

“Go somewhere safe,” Lynn says as she opens the passenger side door for Kellin, who falls into the seat with a sigh. “We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about us.”

“You be safe, too,” Vic replies softly. “Or, well, as safe as you can be.”

“It’ll be alright,” Lynn says, her eyes gleaming with determination, with an incredible will to live. “We’ll probably have to find a new hangout spot, but as long as we’re alive, we’ll be alright.” She closes the passenger side door and then rushes back to the scene, wielding the cop’s baton like a baseball bat. In the low light of the moon, she looks like a street warrior.

“I’ve got a place for us to go,” Vic says, immediately putting the car into drive and peeling out of their spot. “I hope you’re okay.”

Kellin shrugs, staring down at their hands. “I just feel so pathetic,” they admit. “I gave up so easily. I thought I was going to die. And you all…you’re risking your lives for me.”

“It’s easier when you’re in a large group,” Vic says. “Never forget: you’re the one who risked your life to protect me. It was only right that we do the same for you. Bravery will come back to you—I know it will.”

Kellin gazes over at Vic, their heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you,” they whisper, hoping that Vic will understand the magnitude of those two words.

“We stick together,” Vic says. “All of us.”

Back in January, Kellin wouldn’t have believed such a statement. But they’ve been wrong before.


End file.
